<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Triquetra by phaelsafe</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356800">Triquetra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe'>phaelsafe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:33:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go back to normal once Pitch retreats back into the darkest recesses of the world. Not that Jack is particularly fond of normal, but his normal certainly isn't what it used to be. Then the moonbeam shows up and why didn't anybody tell him about the other guardians or the remnants of the ancient spacefaring, magic-wielding empire they're technically part of? It's also incredibly unfair that he's the one to stumble upon the Nightmare King's grim secret, especially since his apparent involvement is likely to unravel his whole world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Frost/Pitch Black, Katherine/Mother Nature | Emily Jane Pitchiner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this back in 2013 for the big bang that fell apart. The idea is based on a lot of the fandom speculation around the time, prior to the release of the Jack Frost book. I haven't read it yet and don't plan to until I get this finished, but I've gleaned enough from the internet that some things might slip in. That's why the canon divergence tag. </p>
<p>I'll try to update every week week and add tags as necessary.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The nightmares edge in closer, their hooves striking sharply against the cold stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pitch is backed against the wall and, while he has been able to hold them off so far, they just keep coming. Eventually, he will falter and they will tear him to shreds. Or worse ‒ they do, after all, feed on terror and Pitch has been chained to his own fears, one way or another, for longer than he cares to remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands fall to his sides, his eyes fluttering closed. He has no idea how long he's been at this, and he's too tired. What's the point? Even if something were to happen to the guardians, children ‒ humanity ‒ would always find a way to overcome fear. Then create new ones. It's what they do, how they learn and grow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hush falls over the cavern, and Pitch's eyes fly open. The nightmares are backing away from a pillar of light that glows between them and the Nightmare King. It grows steadily brighter, until Pitch throws up a hand to protect his eyes and the horses have to flee or risk destruction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walls echo with thunder as the nightmares gallop away, and the light turns toward Pitch. A smiling imitation of a face appears within the shining column, faint as it coalesces into the shape of a person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You can't be here," Pitch points out as though maybe the words could will some reason into being. He slides to the ground, too shocked to remain standing. "How?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The luminous being shrugs then kneels down, reaching for Pitch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, wait!" Pitch snarls, but fingers touch his temple and he's filled with a chilling light. It burns through him, as though he's falling through the cold depths of space toward the sun. He feels empty as his fear evaporates into nothing, and then he feels nothing as he too evaporates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having used up its store of energy, the light abruptly wanes and it shrinks back down to its normal size. The nightmares are gone for now, but it knows that neither it nor Pitch is strong enough to keep them at bay for long. Pitch, it cares naught for, but if the Boogeyman fails to keep the nightmares under control, they'll go after its master.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Annoyed, it flickers then dashes up and out of the Nightmare King's lair, intent on finding some help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pitch groans as he comes to, safe (for the time being) in one of the many beds lost within the maze of his lair. The little moonbeam ‒ he feels ridiculous for not recognizing it immediately ‒ may have saved him, but he is not impervious to the effects of its power. It has wiped him of the very thing attracting the nightmares in the first place, but it has also weakened Pitch. He won't be able to leave until he recovers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath heaves out a long, put-upon sigh and rolls over. He has business he must attend to.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There's a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and Jack turns toward it. A shadow races down the street away from the lamp post he's sitting upon. He launches himself after it, swiftly skimming past quiet houses protecting sleeping children, but the fearling darts away from them and through a park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's been months and they hadn't seen much after Pitch had been dragged away, neither hide nor hair of a nightmare or the slithering fog of a fearling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack chases it across the moonless night sky ‒ it's almost too fast to keep up with ‒ leaving behind the city limits of Hawthorne altogether and crashing into the dense trees surrounding the area. The branches become too thick to fly through safely so Jack's bare feet lightly touch down to the forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whirls around, staff held out before him as he tries to locate the shadow creature. The fearling disappears into a copse of trees and Jack tilts his head, his arm falling to his side with suspicion because it very much seems to be leading him on. He takes off after it though, loping across broken stones and gnarled roots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack isn't really sure how it happens, but he trips ‒ over a branch, his own feet, whatever ‒ headlong into a tangled knot of withered vines. Instead of landing face first in the mess, the plants abruptly whisk apart and dump Jack into the gaping mouth of a deep hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can lift himself out the fearling ‒ not a fearling but a very dim moonbeam! ‒ flies at his face, around and around him much too quickly for Jack to keep track of. It darts further into the darkness just as the vines give under his weight. Then, he's falling after it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground is hard and unforgiving beneath him. His head hurts, and Jack sighs when he presses fingers to his temple and they come away tacky with blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That moonbeam </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been acting suspiciously, though Jack really can't say he knows what counts as normal for a moonbeam. Any of the other guardians should know more, since they are allied with the Man in the Moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack sits up and glances around. He's stretched out in the only shaft of light that spills through the jagged teeth of a broken pane of glass. The simple leadlights that run down one side of the long corridor are blacked out; Jack looks closer and sees vague swirls in the paint, a pattern that is not unlike frost. Above, the ceiling is shrouded in an unnatural darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivers, not sure where he has fallen, but the place looks like an old church or boarding school. Even to him, it's cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack pushes carefully to his feet. The stone floor is worn smooth beneath his toes, though it looks as if no human has been here for quite some time, and he's certain no building like this exists anywhere near Hawthorne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers play through the light and cast stark shadows across the ground. It too feels abnormally cold and empty here ‒ even moonlight has a certain gossamer weight to it. Everything here feels wrong, slightly out of phase. Jack moves to the cracked window hoping he'll recognize the lay of the land, anything to get his bearings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rows of empty iron cages hang above a network of narrow bridges carved directly from the rock that crisscross over a chasm that seems to fall forever into null space. Jack must have found another way into Pitch's lair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He immediately tamps down on the fear that surges up, not wanting to give himself away if Pitch or the nightmares are somewhere nearby. He's not really afraid of them, but the shadow master's stronghold, with its endlessly contrasting elements, seems designed to induce and draw panic from trespassers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps away, his eyes turning to the ceiling. Maybe he can escape through the tunnel he fell through-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moonbeam zips past him, down the corridor, and through one of the doorways spaced along the wall across from the windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes go wide when he hears Pitch snarl "Quit that, you little- fine! Just stay out of my way, or I'll lock you inside a lead cage until you fade entirely from existence."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack inches closer, his steps light as falling snow, until he can press up against the wall just out of sight. When he peeks around the doorframe he sees Pitch sitting with his back to the frost spirit on the edge of a bed. The Nightmare King waves away the moonbeam that hovers too close, his eyes fixed upon a young man who is fast asleep on top of the sheets and blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man can't be much older than Jack, and oddly, he looks very much like Jack with his white hair and pale skin. Even stranger is the spectral glow that emanates from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's also a thin, shadow-dark crystal shoved into his chest that seems to pulse with every beat of his heart. Sighing, the nightmare king reaches out, his long fingers tentatively grazing the shard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pitch flinches as a breathy whine escapes from the white-haired man and his eyes snap open to stare up at nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Jack manages to suppress his gasp, his heel scrapes across the floor as he steps back. He crowds against the wall as silence falls back into place around him. Hoping that Pitch hadn't heard him, Jack holds his breath and glances around for his staff. He hadn't even considered it until now, so preoccupied with his situation – it should have been the first thing he'd thought of when he'd come to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's on the ground not far from where he had originally landed, resting half in the rays streaming into the hallway. Maybe he can grab it and flee from here before Pitch catches him....</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he breaks away from the wall he feels it turn hollow for a split second, then something wraps around his wrist, his ankles, and he is hauled backward again. Icy heat cuts sharply across his nerves as shadow phases through him, an ethereal matter fluxing through the empty space between the particles of his body. Pitch glares haughtily down at him, looking even more ashen than he normally does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't just use the door like normal people?" Jack asks, breathless and still tingling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Says the </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> stealing through a villain's dark domain?" Pitch sneers. "Explain yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence grows as Jack watches the Nightmare King. "It was quiet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too</span>
  </em>
  <span> quiet-" tendrils snap around his neck "-ow! Okay! I was out doing, you know, what I do when I saw a fearling. I followed it, and some tree limbs catapulted me down here-" the loops tighten "-I know, I know ‒ look, you're cutting off the circulation to my hands and possibly feet, and I feel a little off 'cause I kind of hit my head pretty hard so-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadows binding him lose their tension, and Jack stumbles as the blood flows back into his limbs. A gentle, yet firm hand settles upon his shoulder to steady him. It's the thumb along his collarbone makes Jack feel somehow unstable, not the fingers probing the back of his head for damage. Pitch makes a face and pulls his hands away, then quickly places one to his chest  when Jack sways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack finds himself braced against the wall again, this time by Pitch's other hand. Pitch raises his fingers to show Jack the blood there. "Huh, I didn't think it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. Why do I even have blood since I'm dead? I think. Or undead, maybe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hold still," Pitch demands, turning Jack's face carefully aside. He somehow succeeds in frowning more as he brushes strands of white hair out of the way. "You likely have a concussion, and I'm quite certain I've made it worse-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of light hurtles between them, and Pitch jumps back, swatting at it. "Go </span>
  <em>
    <span>away</span>
  </em>
  <span> you infernal thing. I'm trying to help!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling, Jack lets himself slide to the floor. Pitch doesn't seem interested in trying to kill him at the moment, and Jack doesn't want to give him a reason to change his mind. Not that he's in much of a position to do so ‒ everything he looks at is nauseating. "Uh, are you supposed to have a halo-" Pitch snorts, and Jack casts his gaze to the floor "-everything has a halo ‒ and what is that thing anyway?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a fearling, the one you chased here, apparently. I'm going to get bandages and ice. Don't move. I'll be right back." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"At least someone around here seems to like me," Jack scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another snort from the Nightmare King, and then he's gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pitch had lied to him about the moonbeam, and Jack isn't about to wait around to find out why. It drifts before him, waiting. He crawls over to his staff then uses it to push himself back onto his feet. He's had plenty of concussions before, and this isn't the worst he's had to deal with. "Hey, little moonbeam. Since you brought me down here in the first place, I don't suppose you'd help me find my way back out, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moonbeam deflates, seeming disappointed, but it floats up to the ceiling and disappears. Jack follows.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been some kind of week. Also, there is no beta, only Zuul.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bunny is the guardian most likely to give Jack answers to the questions he has. Objective answers, not evasive ones intended to protect his innocent youth or whatever. He's not the naive urchin the others consider Jack to be. Not that, in his experience, most kids on the street are innocent' Though the pooka is more cordial these days, he still treats Jack only like an impulsive pain in the ass. </p><p>And rightly so. </p><p>He tightens his hood and hops back into the currents of air flowing swiftly above him and heads south.</p><p>Easter Island is the closest way into the tunnels of Bunny's warren. He still hasn't managed to figure out the mechanics of any of that mess, how Bunny gets around without disrupting the surrounding environment. Magic, probably. Jack walks up to one of the large stone statues on the empty beach and taps his staff against it. "Hey, Bunny, can I-"</p><p>A twig snaps behind him, and he whirls around to find the blue-grey guardian there. Before Jack can open his mouth again, Bunny thumps his foot against the ground twice and the soil beneath Jack's feet liquefies and falls away. </p><p>He lands in lush, fragrant grass with a thud. After a minute of trying to recover from having the air knocked right out of him, Jack rolls over to glare at the rabbit-shaped pooka. Bunny just shrugs, his whiskers twitching to hide his smile, and helps Jack to his feet. </p><p>"So, what's with having the secret base at Easter Island?" Jack asks, dusting off his breeches.</p><p>"Rapa Nui," Bunny corrects and Jack lifts a brow. "Well before Europeans showed up to name the place after some appropriated fertility goddess, the people who lived here had developed their own beliefs centered around new beginnings. And eggs." </p><p>There's an odd gleam in Bunny's eyes, and Jack's other brow draws up to meet the first. North gripes on occasion about the pooka's ability to prattle on endlessly about the perfection of all things ovoid but Jack had yet to hear one of the egg-centric rants for himself. With a shake of his head, he pushes away the desire to <em> egg </em> Bunny on and instead asks, "Hey, if you'd like to ramble on about something, what do you know about moonbeams?"</p><p>Bunny stops, his twitching whiskers the only movement he makes. "That's an odd question. They're messengers from the Man in the Moon, though fat lot of good they do since only he and Nightlight could understand their language. Why?" The other guardian turns around to face Jack, his nose twitching this time. "Better yet, why don't you tell me why you smell like blood?"</p><p>Jack can honestly say he'd forgotten about that, what with his thoughts being so focused on the person Pitch is entertaining as a ...guest? prisoner? "I thought I saw a fearling and chased it. Ran right into a tree," he explains, pulling the hood down. He can't help but laugh as he adds, "Apparently, everyone is interested in making my head injuries worse today."</p><p>Bunny's ears fall flat against his head and he stutters, "Oh, Jack. I didn't realize. Good grief- why didn't you say something sooner?"</p><p>"Relax, Bunny. I'm a fast healer. I'm fine, just forgot to clean up on my way over here."</p><p>"Yeah, well, let's do that first-"</p><p>"-then you can tell me about this Nightlight person?" Jack finishes. </p><p>Bunny flinches. "...sure."</p><p>The pooka puts a kettle on for tea, something herbal and very green tasting, and pulls out a kit full of first aid supplies. Though Jack is no longer suffering from the effects of the concussion, the wound is still sluggishly bleeding. He hisses as Bunny cleans the mess up. </p><p>"How did you manage to do this again," Bunny asks, tilting Jack's head for the umpteenth time for better access. "I've seen you literally turn on a dime, mate." </p><p>Jack shrugs. "The moonbeam was faster, I guess. I didn't know what it was at first, so it caught me off guard."</p><p>"How'd you know what it was?"</p><p>Now that is something Jack can't answer. He squints, trying to remember if he had ever heard the other guardians talk about them. He must have given their apparent significance. "I… I don't know. It just looked like one?"</p><p>Bunny finishes and stands back up, humming thoughtfully under his breath. "There were less and less moonbeams flitting about as we gained power. Actually, the last time I saw one was when Katherine and Nightlight…."</p><p>Jack waits for Bunny to finish, but the other guardian seems lost in thought so he prompts, "Who?"</p><p>"Katherine ‒ she's another guardian. Sort of. You may have heard of her. She's Mother Goose. Nightlight was MiM's protector from way back during the Golden Age. He kind of, well, we don't know where he disappeared to when Katherine finally decided to grow up. Last I heard, she was living off in the middle of nowhere with Mother Nature. She's not exactly a guardian either because… eh, what with Emily Jane being Pitch's daughter and all that-"</p><p>The china cup slipped from Jack's fingers and shattered on the floor. Tiny little eggmen came from out of nowhere to sweep up the mess, done almost as soon as they'd started. </p><p>"Oy, mate-" </p><p>Jack blinks, unable to process any of that. Whatever the Golden Age is, it's the last bit that has his full attention. "Pitch has a <em> daughter </em>?" </p><p>"Yes. I guess with all the hubbub around your initiation and Pitch attacking Easter we-" Bunny crouches back down "-may have forgotten to fill you in on all the details? But, if you did see a moonbeam-"</p><p>"I could've been wrong. It's not like I know what I'm talking about."</p><p>"-if you did see a moonbeam, you might want to talk to Sandy about it. Probably important, but I don't know enough to say why. In the meantime," he rises and moves to one of the bookshelves that fill every nook and cranny not decorated with eggs, and pulls out an old leather journal. "Read this. The unabridged <em>Old Mother Goose's Rhymes.</em>"  </p><p>He knows the most common tales. It's impossible to be around so many children and not hear them. Knowing that they aren't just the usual myths, that they're somehow canonical guardian stories makes him feel strangely exposed. Jack slides his hood back into place as he eyes the heavy book. "Would North have a copy, because that doesn't look like it will travel well through the atmosphere."</p><p>"Yes. Right, you're staying there now. I could send you through the tunnels, but I, ah, guess you might want to give your noggin a bit of a rest, yeah? Sandy should have a copy too. Maybe something more helpful. Hold up," he rubs a paw sheepishly behind his ears before rifling through his knick-knacks and handing over a snow globe. </p><p>"Does North know you have this?" </p><p>"No, and I expect you to give it back when you're done with it," Bunny says, crossing his arms in front of him. </p><p>Jack laughs and gives the globe a shake. "Aye, aye, Sir Bunnymund!"</p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>While Jack loves to be smack dab in the middle of a bunch of the merrymaking, even he has his limits. North's Workshop is always busy, bright, and noisy. And hot. He finds it ironic ‒ and incredibly unfair ‒ how uncomfortable he ends up being at the North Pole. It's absolutely, most definitely not something he can tolerate right now. He's scatterbrained, at best, on a good day but with the distracting mess swirling around in his head right now? Jack shakes away the cacophonous memories.</p><p>The Sandman's island, however, lies on a latitude that is neither too far north or south of the equator to be considered anything but temperate. The snow globe drops him heavily onto the damp sand, and he hears a startled yelp followed by several splashes. Glancing in the direction from which they came, Jack sees several pairs of eerie, fathomless eyes peering up at him from beneath the waves. He gives a waggle of his fingers and a tentative smile but the distorted faces fade away into the watery depths. </p><p>Jack watches for a little longer before turning toward the castle. At least the cool ocean breeze is happy to see him. It lifts him into the air after he fails to trudge his way up the first shifting dune. The sand extends in odd, sloping arms that spiral out from the castle and into the sea. Glancing back, Jack finds three mermaids sitting along on the bank of the one he'd just vacated. They watch him warily. From this height he can hear sweet songs drifting along the wind toward the castle. </p><p>As he enters, Jack can't help but notice that the walls are made of sand. It glitters from light that seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Everything is made of sand, in fact, except for the paintings and tapestries that line the corridors. He makes his way down to what should be the main hall, passing several smaller rooms that appear to have accumulated oddities and relics over the centuries. Despite all the sand, there isn't a speck of dust anywhere. </p><p>Sandy is sitting in the middle of a huge room atop a pile of plush pillows just casually reading a scroll that very much looks ready to crumble. Books and tomes and stray parchment pages line the shelves. Gauzy fabric hangs gathered from the undulating sandy ceilings, further tinging the already ambient light with a dreamlike hue. </p><p>Jack feels safe and sound, like he's floating. Trancelike. ...wrong, dim and murky. Something shrieks in his mind, shrill and jagged and dysphoric. He trips, knocks his staff against the ground for balance, and Sandy looks up. He's startled, but the timbre of the light suddenly shifts back to normal and Jack sags against his weapon. </p><p>"Well, I wasn't expecting that," Jack explains. </p><p>Sandy's eyes are narrow as he turns toward Jack, like maybe that wasn't supposed to happen. Or maybe he just wasn't expecting visitors and thus wasn't minding his hypnagogic powers. He stands up and brushes nonexistent dust from his clothes. A huge smile splits his face and a flurry of happy symbols flash above his head.</p><p>"What was that anyway?"</p><p>The symbols break apart and fall away. Sandy shrugs and plops down onto the pillows. He pats one beside him, and Jack makes his way over.</p><p>More symbols. The castle with zees floating above it followed by sleeping guardians. Sandy shrugs.</p><p>"Okay, yeah, I can see how this being your domain might have some creepy-odd effects on outsiders."</p><p>Sandy stares up at him, waiting. Then a question mark appears. </p><p>"Uhm." The frost sprite reaches once more for the back of his head, then winces as he remembers Bunny's bandaging. "I'm kind of here to ask, well, I saw a moonbeam. I think?"</p><p>The way the other guardian squints at him, as though he doesn't entirely trust Jack's answer shouldn't be upsetting. His observation skills are only somewhat questionable, and there's a reason eyewitness accounts aren't always considered accurate. "Bunny said you might be able to tell me more about Katherine and Emily Jane."</p><p>Sandy's eyes widen but he otherwise remains motionless.</p><p>"Or even about Nightlight since he controlled moonbeams or something?"</p><p>At that, Sandy pales and shrinks away, horrified.</p><p>"What? Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to!" Jack stands suddenly, his staff clasped tightly to him. "I'm sorry!"</p><p>The Sandman shakes himself, then shakes his head. <em> My apologies, Jack. </em></p><p>"Wait, you can talk?"</p><p>Sandy nods. Just as quickly, his expression turns conflicted and he swings his hand one way and then the other. <em> No, not exactly. If we know each other well enough, we can share them. To some degree. I can hear your surface level thoughts and emotions. </em></p><p>"Oh. Huh, but I can't 'think' at you the same way," Jack says. He's always been different from the others. Of course, he doesn't actually know that the others have telepathic abilities either, and Sandy's confused shrug does make him feel a tad bit less removed.</p><p>Jack takes a deep breath and releases it too quickly. He's not usually so introspective, doesn't tend to question himself and those around him so much. Being carefree and letting things go is how he gets by. Jack isn't sure he'd have survived otherwise, but now his thoughts are intrusive. The fact said thoughts seem to just bounce off the inside of his skull, trapped and seemingly aimless, is disconcerting. It's sudden and coincides with…. </p><p>Would Bunny let him leave if his injury was serious? Would Jack have listened? It's not like Jack responds well to being told what to do. The snow globe sits heavily in his pocket.      </p><p>A symbol flashes over Sandy's head ‒ a large stop sign, loud in the space it occupies. He smacks the side of one hand against the palm of the other, his face set with resolve. Jack blinks when the Sandman steps forward and pulls the frost spirit into a hug. <em> Stop that, Jack. </em></p><p>It's not that Jack dislikes hugs, he's quite fond of them now that he can get them, but what? "I'm sorry-"</p><p>Sandy shakes his head again and hugs Jack tightly. <em> I'm sorry. We've always had each other, if need be. For longer than I can actually remember ‒ and my memory is as long as the universe is wide. </em></p><p>Oh. </p><p>"No, Sandy, look, I'm not, like, trying to project my baggage onto-" Sandy holds up his hands to stop him "-let me finish. I know you guys know and care, and that I can talk with any of you about anything that's bothering me. It's just that I wasn't really around others for so long, and it's probably going to take me a long time to, I don't really know…."</p><p>Sandy watches Jack carefully, his hands dropping to his sides. His head dips carefully as he acknowledges the words, but then he points at Jack, then at his own eyes, and then back to Jack once more.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Jack chuckles as his strange melancholy mellows. "You'll be watching me. I get it, and Sandy? I do appreciate it, but you don't have to worry about that. Just fill me in on the stuff I don't know ‒ which is apparently a whole lot ‒ so I can not feel so left out, please."</p><p>Sandy grimaces and nods, but he turns around and settles back into his spot. As he gestures at the collection of cushions around him, he beams up at Jack and the golden light he radiates spreads out to brighten the room. Eddies of dreamsand flow into the room and stack books precariously beside Jack. He mimics opening a book, points at Jack, then taps his temple. </p><p>Jack raises an eyebrow. "You want me to read all of these?"    </p><p>A look of concern crosses Sandy's face as he glances down at the books, but he shrugs and grainy images begin to flicker over his head. </p><p>"Alright, alright, I get it, Sandman. But, hey, does anyone fluently speak your sandspeak?"</p><p>Sandy nods excitedly as he creates little golden mermaids and fairy folk, a fleet of shooting stars, Toothiana, then a girl that Jack doesn't recognize. The golden guardian's face falls and the portrait along with it. Before Jack can do or say anything in response, a question mark springs up over his head. Sandy points to it, then the question mark comes to a rest just before the dream guardian.</p><p>"Understood. If I have any further questions, I'll ask," Jack agrees as he reaches for the first book. He sighs as he cracks it open. When Sandy throws him a confused look, Jack simply says, "I've never been good at this reading thing. Kind of lack that whole ability to focus for longer than ten seconds."</p><p>Sandy acknowledges that with an amused snort.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack makes an honest effort to get through the books. After only two hours of hanging haphazardly somewhere above the snoozing Sandman, Jack covers his face with the open book and lets loose a plaintive groan. It's frustrated and attention-seeking, and he knows it works when he feels subtle changes in pressure in the air from what he assumes is Sandy waving his arms around in an attempt to get Jack's attention.</p><p>Jack ignores him, lets himself drift until he finally gets an equally frustrated <em> ...yes, Jack? </em> out of Sandy. He drops heavily from the air, abrupt as a Midwest summer downdraft, a sprawl of limbs and winding vortices, into a too-deep pile of soft things that can't possibly exist according to what he'd seen of the place earlier. It's like when his kids jump into the ball pit to hide from the overwhelming sights and sounds of every birthday party to ever exist. He burrows deeper, trying to muffle the noise in his brain. Instead, he has to muffle his giggles as he's struck by the stray thought that Sandy has some kind of illicit pillow breeding program going on in the castle, that he's using them to curry favor with the children of the world.</p><p>He shields his eyes when his apparently traitorous hiding space yields to Sandy's luminous yet chiding face. Jack's sigh is overwrought as he extends a half-hearted hand back into the real world. Sandy pulls him to his feet as though he weighs little more than a snowball. His brows shoot up when he finds himself barely ankle deep in the cushions he'd so readily tried to entomb himself within.</p><p>The corners of Sandy's mouth pull into a cartoonishly suspicious frown as he settles back into his spot with a shrug.</p><p>Jack shrugs back and then just tips forward, expecting anything else ‒ pillows, dreamsand, a passing friendly breeze ...Sandy ‒ to do the work of preventing another concussion. He doesn't bother lifting his face away from the pillows when he says, "I can't. There's no way ‒ and these were written for children? How even? There has to be another way."</p><p>The silence wears on until Jack decides to look up. Sandy shrugs. </p><p>"Can't you just send it to me in dreams?"</p><p>The other guardian is shaking his head before Jack finishes the question. A smiley face appears before morphing into a collection of sleepy zees. </p><p>"I figured they weren't all happy if Pitch was involved but-" </p><p>Sandy interrupts him with a fierce shake of his head. A scary face materializes before him, and then sand erases it with a wave of his hand. It's quickly replaced by a happy one, and the Sandman jabs pointedly at it.</p><p>"Oh, huh. That never occurred to me," Jack says as he sits down. Dreams are so subjective in the first place, and not all unhappy dreams are nightmares.</p><p>Apparently, he'd spoken that all out loud because Sandy tilts his head to the side, lost in thought. He cups his hands together and stares intently at what pools there. At first, it's bright gold, pure and full of joy. Then, Sandy chews on his lip and concentrates harder. Coppery grains well up alongside the untarnished dreamsand. When specks of black settle into the mix, glinting in the low light like obsidian, Jack scrabbles to his knees as a swift panic takes hold somewhere behind his ribs.</p><p>However, Sandy grins and all but bounces to his feet with excitement. He lifts his eyes to meet Jack's, and then an eyebrow follows suit at the other guardian's reaction. A question mark appears over his head.</p><p>Jack exhales a shaky breath. It's strange that he can face the Boogeyman directly in his own lair, but a near insignificant amount of the stuff that erased the Sandman from existence is enough to send him into a tizzy? "Is- is that because of what happened with Pitch?"</p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Sandy tosses the sand into the air and spins it into a ball. <em> Do you know how old I am? I have been on this planet for so long, yet that is only a fraction of how long I've been alive. It isn't that I've forgotten but that I've become used to dealing with things as they are here on Earth. We've all adapted, fallen into our respective routines. You have a habit of pulling us from those habits. </em></p><p>Sandy's laughter is soft and tranquil, like the sound of a wind chime on a passing sea breeze. <em> You're right, of course, Jack. Dreams aren't mine to give or take, and Pitch Black had to manipulate dreams to exploit the fear of children. I can do as you've asked. </em></p><p>"But you just said you can't give dreams-"</p><p><em> I can give you any dream you want. Giving people their own good dreams has a different kind of weight. It's less invasive, more natural. Making people, especially children, dream about something they don't want though…. </em> Sandy shudders. </p><p>Jack nods along, though something doesn't add up here. There's something missing from the guardian's explanation. He doesn't think it's intentional either, just that maybe Sandy, despite his experience and wisdom, can't know everything. Or maybe he has simply forgotten some of it even though he claims otherwise. Not that Jack can suss out what it is either, not with his lack of experience ‒ the reason he's here is to learn, and the dread that comes at the thought of reading through those books quickly drowns out his other concerns. Besides, he still trusts the Sandman. "Okay, but is it going to take long?"</p><p>This time Sandy's laughter is silently hearty. Maybe Jack had imagined the wind chimes. Several symbols appear then disappear, one after the other, clearly for emphasis. Dreams are not dependent upon time. In fact, Jack can't remember what time it was when he'd arrived, nor are there any of the usual indicators normally used to mark it. "Dream time is kind of like dream logic. They make sense because it doesn't ultimately matter. Okay, hit me with your best shot."</p><p>The Sandman grins and nods, and then he lobs the ball of dreamsand at Jack's face. The last thought that flits through his mind before he's asleep is that he's absolutely picking Sandy to be on his team for any future snowball fights.</p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>Alighting on the soft forest floor is comforting. Jack is glad to be home, but he's tired despite the sleep he'd had. Absorbing that much information at once was exhausting. Dreams were supposed to help people process both information and emotions they had experienced throughout the day, and it appears there are repercussions for doing it backwards.</p><p>Attempts were made by the other guardian to get him to stay and rest, but Jack simply felt too off-balanced after waking up to stick around. If Sandy had already relayed what he knew, Jack didn't want to bother him further with moonbeams and Fear Kings. He really should know by now that having his questions answered only leads to more questions, and the mystery surrounding Nightlight's disappearance is going to gnaw at his already thin attention span unless he figures something out. </p><p>An inkling of whom he should speak with is sliding around the edges of his brain, though he has serious reservations about following through. Jack isn't scared, per se, but there's certainly some anxiety hiding in there, ready to come out to play if he is willing to give it enough idle space to take root. Social convention, common courtesy, a sense of decorum ‒ whatever the rules of polite society are called these day ‒ has never been his thing, but approaching people he doesn't know regarding potentially catastrophic situations he knows little about? Even he understands how that might be offensive. </p><p>He ignores it because why should it suddenly bother him now?</p><p>Autumn is just around the corner, making the air crisp and dry. The trees haven't yet begun to drop their foliage, but the seasons don't have a monopoly on change. Decay is an ongoing process and leaves will always be lost to time. Jack lifts his staff and calls the wind to him. It obliges, more than happy to pull the leaves into a spiraling dance around Jack. It's been awhile since Jack spends most of his time now only where it's cold enough to spin frost across window panes, but they're delighted to entertain him all the same. </p><p>He drops to the ground as the leaves twist around his fingers, his face, and he whispers his request to them. They snatch it up before the wind has a chance to plagiarize it.</p><p>The forest settles back down around him, mostly quiet once more. Jack waits there, unsure of how long this might take, assuming it works at all. He's got too much on his mind but nothing he wants to think about, so he closes his eyes and clears it all away with a good mental scrub. </p><p>Not long at all, apparently. A presence fills the space around him and his eyes snap open, glancing around warily. She's crouched before him by the time he's managed to get to one knee.</p><p>"You can speak with the leaves," she states. She's tall, obvious even when folded in on herself, with black hair that falls like waves of fog around her. Her eyes are bright green with flecks of gold, the same as Sandy's. Or Pitch's. Even in the dark Jack can clearly see her ‒ she reflects nature in much the same way the moon reflects sunlight. She grabs Jack by the chin and hauls him up. "Answer me."</p><p>"You didn't ask anything," Jack huffs. She definitely has Pitch's intensity but she lacks the aura of fear. "My sister loved playing in the autumn leaves we piled up just as much as she loved playing in the snow. They remember her, and they remember when I died saving her. They were the first to talk to me after... Well, first after the moon."</p><p>Her eyes narrow, but another voice cuts in. "Emily Jane, he's a guardian now."</p><p>Katherine steps forward, catching Emily Jane's hand as she backs away from Jack. They both look several years older than he does, though he's well aware of how little that means.</p><p>"So, Mother Nature and Mother Goose, eh? But no goose," Jack asks and he can't hide his disappointment. A goose with a fifty-foot wingspan isn't something he gets to see every day. </p><p>"What is it you want, Jack Frost?" Emily Jane's tone is icier than his countenance. </p><p>Jack isn't about to regret saying the first thing that pops into his head. It's just so unlikely to happen, really, thinking before he speaks. They came of their own accord and can leave the same way. They can't hurt him really, probably. Maybe. And besides, they're also supposed to be the good guys. It's becoming clear that whatever charm he's able to use on the others is going to fall flat with these two, but he still has to ask. "What happened to Nightlight?"</p><p>"Why are you asking?" Emily Jane edges just ahead of Katherine as the grip on her hand tightens, Katherine clenching her fingers until they turn white. </p><p>The two are oddly synchronized, one filling in for the other where needed even if nothing is blatantly communicated. Maybe they're using magic, but somehow Jack doesn't think it's necessary. That's certainly not resentment coloring the fringes of his thoughts. "A little moonbeam asked for help, and, to be honest, I don't know what to do."</p><p>Katherine glances up to Emily Jane. The taller woman shrugs. Neither looks particularly concerned about the information despite Katherine's initial response. She turns back to Jack and says, "It didn't come to us, and you didn't take this to the other guardians." </p><p>"Do you think they could help? Would they? I'm kind of new around here."</p><p>Katherine snorts, but Emily Jane levels that intense gaze at Jack. He was wrong ‒ she's just as terrifying but it's nearly impossible to figure out what's going through her head. "Who knows. Maybe, but maybe not. We don't know why you've come to us. Nightlight grew up. He didn't like it so he turned to my father who dealt with him in the only way he knows how."</p><p>A sigh escapes from Jack and he scrubs a hand across his face. "I don't know what that means. My experience with Pitch is limited to him knocking me out and leaving me to plummet several thousand feet to the ground, and him knocking me out and abandoning me to the elements in Antarctica. Though, to be fair, I can fly and I'm allegedly impervious to polar temperatures, so it's quite possible my ability to gauge the severity of stuff like that is a bit skewed."</p><p>Katherine grins, her reaction quickly concealed as she hides behind Emily Jane's shoulder. Definitely feeling vindicated about his ability to pull reactions from others after his traitorous brain had fed him such ridiculous doubts. He'd laugh too at the bewilderment written plainly across Emily Jane's face if he didn't know how that she's an eons old noblewoman who wields immeasurable power over nature itself, the daughter of <em> the </em> protector of the Golden Age empire ‒ who turned into the traitorous nightmare space pirate king who then decimated said empire. She's probably not used to getting sassed by backwater snow ghosts whose only authority comes from the moon. And granted, the Man in the Moon is probably technically her king or emperor or whatever of the known universe but-</p><p>"Don't mind her. She's still not used to Earthlings, even after living with me for, what, three hundred years?" The red-head pinches Emily Jane's cheek, Emily Jane scowls at Jack like this is all his fault, and Jack would just chalk this entire surreal event up to a fatigue-induced hallucination if he didn't know better. "Nightlight and Pitch were mortal enemies. Or, I guess, immortal enemies. Sort of."</p><p>"The Nightmare King annihilates those he cannot turn into fearlings, and Nightlight was the only person to ever truly contain my father for any significant amount of time."</p><p>"You're sure he's dead though? But I saw-" Nope, Jack doesn't know who or what he saw, and he certainly doesn't want to provoke anyone even tangentially related to who or what he thinks he saw into making it worse. Not until he has some actual proof. "The moonbeam was so insistent. Why are you so sure?"</p><p>Katherine's expression twists into a frown. She pulls her hand from Emily Jane's and wraps her arms around herself, but then leans into her partner instead of pulling away entirely. "Nightlight and I were the only kids our age, and we grew very close. He didn't speak often, certainly not with the others, but he did talk to me-" she taps her temple "-here. We had a bond. I can't really explain it, but we were able to help each other out of some rather dire situations because of it. The problem was that I'm human and couldn't stay a child forever. I mean, I probably could have found a way using magic, but I didn't want to. Then, he went and gave up his innocence to save me. Things weren't the same after that."</p><p>She falls silent, remembering. Jack wonders how often she's thought about Nightlight over the past few centuries. He's about to prompt her to continue, but Emily Jane bumps an elbow tenderly against her side first. "I don't know how nightlights were made or trained or whatever. As far as I know, he was the only one. Maybe they never expected him to have to use those powers, but it all just seemed so unfair that he'd been given such a power if using it meant he had to destroy his identity and just deal with any consequences. I'm not even sure he knew what would happen, only that he shouldn't use his 'secret weapon.' He was  just a boy, and he was supposed to be just a boy for all eternity. And just like that, he wasn't allowed to be that anymore ‒ all because he wanted to protect others? It's the height of arrogance, if not cruelty. And to be honest," her voice drops to a whisper as she glances to where the moon is obscured by its waxing phase, "I can't say I'm surprised fear was able overtake the Great Houses. It thrived during their rule."  </p><p>She folds her arms behind her back and starts to pace as she continues her story. "We weren't actually the same age though. Nightlight had at least several centuries worth of emotions and traumatic experiences to deal with. He tried for a while ‒ to grow up, I suppose ‒ but we didn't know how to help him. Most of us were human or too far removed from the people of the Golden Age. Except for Emily Jane and Pitch, and well," Katherine gestures broadly, "she'd been lost amongst the stars since she was six, and Pitch?"</p><p>"What about the moon, Manny? ...MiM" Jack asks, perplexed. This doesn't line up with what he knows of the guardians. His three centuries of near isolation, however... It's still just an assumption, so he waves it away. "He was a kid too, right? Wasn't he expected to grow up eventually? Surely Nightlight wasn't supposed to remain some kind of child warrior forever…."</p><p>Having circled back around, Katherine links her arm with the one offered by Emily Jane. They both stare back at Jack with an earnest but fierce look in their eyes. It's not quite anger or hate. The frost spirit can't decipher it ‒ it isn't directed at him so much as he'd managed to ask the right question.</p><p>"The Lunar Tsar remained silent," the Embodiment of Nature replies, her words an indictment that echo his own instinctive complaints about their distant warden. "It's not that he's evil. Everything he does is for the greater good. He just doesn't know what he's doing and won't admit to his faults and failures."</p><p>"I loved Nightlight, still do, but he had many feelings that I wasn't able to return-" Emily Jane tangles her fingers with Katherine's "-and he resented that. Then he felt guilty about feeling that way. I could feel his feelings and thoughts until eventually I had to block them. If he wanted to talk, he knew I was there, but he blamed himself and didn't want to put that on me. We finally decided to leave, hoping some distance would help. That was the last time I saw him, but I felt when our connection was broken," she explains, shuddering. </p><p>"It was violently broken," Emily Jane states. </p><p>"That's why you didn't write the rest of Nightlight's story," Jack concludes. The others had their suspicions about what happened, but they couldn't know for certain. </p><p>"I can only know the truth of the stories I witness or am told. I'm no slouch at writing fiction, but that's not my power. I refuse to record what amounts to vague speculation for the sake of posterity."</p><p>"Isn't that a little cold? Her, I get, but you don't seem like the aloof and detached kind of friend." Jack stops and blinks. He hadn't meant to blurt that out. "I mean, no offense. I don't know why I said that instead of what I meant to ask."</p><p>Emily Jane actually rolls her eyes, but Katherine grins. It's a small grin, a smirk even. "You remind me of him, Jack Frost, just a bit. It did take me some time to move on, but honestly? We were very good friends for a short amount of time. Since then, I've lived that amount of time many times over. These kinds of things never go away; they just become a part of who you are as a person."</p><p>"Oh." Jack nods. He can relate to that sentiment. </p><p>"What was your question," asks Emily Jane. Katherine's eyes dart up to the other woman's face, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She lifts up onto her toes and affectionately pats Emily Jane's cheek. Emily Jane stares down at her, indifferent to the touch as she states, "You want to know as well."</p><p>"And you beat me to it. You're so weird," Katherine chuckles, her warm eyes alive with curiosity.</p><p>Jack catches himself before he scratches the back of his head again, embarrassed by the display of affection. They're being <em> cute </em>, and aside from the likelihood of Emily Jane turning him into a permanent fixture here in the forest if he said as much, Jack doesn't know how to respond to having witnessed it, whether he should respond at all. </p><p>The mythical creatures he'd come across as he wandered the world were civil, even helpful, often amused by Jack and his antics, but those relationships never really went beyond Jack having a handful of casual acquaintances and an occasional fling.  How to engage with people on a more familiar or intimate level exists in his mind as fleeting, phantom memories, but maybe he's just overthinking this. Katherine clearly takes after North, though she's far more laid back than the rowdy Russian, and Emily Jane probably just suspects his motives. "Oh, uh, you mentioned powers. I don't know about mine. I mean, I know how to use them, mostly, I guess, but I'm human. The other human guardians use magic. I don't know enough for it to count, but the ice stuff was there when I came back. To life."</p><p>Emily Jane looks to Katherine, who shrugs, then lifts her chin to study Jack. "Those of us from the Golden Age have innate magic. The Sandman and the Lunar Tsar remain mostly unchanged while the Nightmare King and I have adapted to our surroundings. North, Ombric, and Katherine are simply extremely adept, for humans, at using magic. Perhaps you are like Toothiana and the pooka, or perhaps there is some fae blood in your lineage. Why does this matter?"</p><p>"So, the moon didn't <em> give </em> me these powers."</p><p>The nature spirit shakes her head. "No, he does not have that ability. Even Nightlight's powers were his. My guess is that the Tsar and Tsarina used a spell to manipulate his magic. It's unlikely that the Man in the Moon would have access to knowledge anymore, and it was very uncommon for my people to meddle with such magicks, since it was wholly unnecessary."</p><p>Jack nods, though he's frustrated and has to hold in his sigh. This conversation has clarified some of the finer details, but once again, Jack finds himself with more information and no answers. If Nightlight is dead, then who does Pitch have imprisoned? He racks his brain, knowing there has to be something he's missing. </p><p>Katherine politely clears her throat, and Jack glances up. He'd gotten caught up in his thoughts and had been staring off into the distance. "Oh, uhm, how do I get a hold of you again?"</p><p>Pulling up to her full height, Emily Jane glowers down at Jack. "You don't."  </p><p>"Oh, come on, Mama, don't be like that," Katherine giggles and playfully shoves at Emily Jane's shoulder. At the horrified look the other woman gives her, Katherine has to hold her sides. </p><p>"Stars and constellations, Katherine, don't call me that unless you want me to start back in with the Loosey Goosey bit." </p><p>Jack's eyes widen, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle whatever might pop out. There are so many wrong ways to take that, and he simply doesn't want to push his luck.</p><p>"Ignore her, Jack-" that gets a withering look from the nature spirit "-you just interrupted our alone-" Emily Jane yanks roughly on an auburn braid "-right, if you have a story to tell, just tell it. I'll come by to jot it down."</p><p>"Or, you know, just ask a bird, the leaves, a rainbow, some rocks, a babbling brook, or literally anything within my sphere of influence. I have eyes and ears practically everywhere. But don't you dare abuse my good will."</p><p>Katherine leans toward Jack, masking her words with a hand to whisper conspiratorially, "Miss Crankyskirts is a bit of an introvert- Ow! Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Bye, Jack. It was nice to finally meet you!"</p><p>And then Jack is alone. His head is hurting again, but at least he's intact. He really does need to stop second guessing himself because, all in all, that had gone better than expected. Not that he'd actually had expectations ‒ empty or playful threats were the norm, even amongst his allies ‒ but Katherine and Emily Jane were at least approachable. Likeable, even. Whatever their reasons for parting ways with guardians are, Jack kind of wishes he'd met them sooner. Maybe they'd have become friends. Maybe they would consider the possibility still.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Holidays and finals are coming up. Updates are likely to be delayed based on how life comes at me in the next few weeks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack jerks upright, his muscles tensing painfully as he wakes with a start. Since he usually sleeps like the dead ‒ possibly a holdover from when he had actually been dead ‒ he struggles with sorting out what had pulled him from his sleep. Vivid dreams or nightmares sometimes interrupt him like that, but those tend to, at least, leave behind vague impressions that linger only until he regains his senses.     </p><p>The smell of hay and apples surrounds him, reminding him that he's in a hayloft not too far away from town. It isn't the sounds of the door scraping open by the midday crew that pulls him from his sleep either, but an intense and acute awareness of how Katherine had framed events in terms of centuries rather than millennia. Jack scrubs a hand across his eyes, trying to will away the irritation of getting roused from an apparently much needed rest by something as abstract as <em> sudden insight </em>.  </p><p>He'd zonked out nearly three days ago, which is <em> fine </em> ‒ he doesn't usually need much, same as Sandy, but he likes to get some sleep on occasion, turn off his mind for a while. At least his head no longer feels like a jack-o-lantern, left a week after Halloween to mould on the porch.</p><p>He grabs his staff and zips out through loft doors, displacing enough air as he passes to knock one of the workers over. It's late afternoon, too early to hunt moonbeams, but maybe he can find an entrance to the lair. Jack flies out just above the treetops until he finds a clearing and perches high in the fragrant branches of a hemlock tree.</p><p>A cursory glance shows nothing, and Jack draws his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees as he thinks. North certainly favors hyperbole for the sake of dramatic effect, so Jack honestly shouldn't be surprised that they hadn't actually banished the Boogeyman back in the Dark Ages. Based on what Katherine had said, she's maybe a decade or two older than Jack.</p><p>Which also means that Jack was born approximately when Nightlight died. If his assumption about the moon gifting Jack with powers while resurrecting him had been wrong, then it's unlikely that he's here now as Nightlight's replacement, especially given how much time he spent isolated from the other guardians. It's possible that he received them after dying, or maybe he'd always had them and just never realized they were there. That would really suck since he could've just thickened the ice to save both himself and his sister instead of living as he is now.    </p><p>But would he have been around to save the guardians and the children from Pitch?</p><p>Jack shakes the thought from his head, as well as the idea that he's actually Nightlight. Toothiana said they all had the memories held within their teeth, and his memories reflect a normal human childhood with normal human parents and siblings. </p><p>He was almost nineteen when he'd fallen through the ice, and he and Mary had been out shirking the pretty standard early colonial American duties, the kind that Jamie and the others still learn about in grade school. They were supposed to have been weather-proofing the chicken coop against an unexpected early frost. That same cold front had frozen several inches of the pond, and Mary didn't believe Jack when he'd explained how the temperature needed to drop lower for the ice to thicken up enough to support her weight. </p><p>Turns out he was the early frost. He laughs at his joke and then buries his face in his arms because it's not at all funny. </p><p>After two hours of scouring the surrounding areas, Jack still finds nothing that might lead him underground. Evening clouds are rolling in, hiding the slivered moon as it races after the fading rays of the sun as though it's trying to wake up in time to catch him breaking some rule nobody bothered to tell him about. Jack stands, tipping his head back to watch as the brightest stars finally overwhelm the remnants of solar interference to twinkle merrily overhead. </p><p>If nothing else, he has the snow globe in his pocket. </p><p>Stepping from the security granted by the bough, Jack releases himself from the care of the lofty breeze and into the stomach-dropping grasp of gravity. Something else snatches him from behind and slams him against the tree trunk. "...ow."</p><p>The darkness cleaves together to reveal Pitch. He's standing a foot away with his arms folded primly behind his back. There's little he can make out other than the spectral golden sheen of Pitch's eyes. </p><p>"You know I can fly, right? Why do I keep having to remind everyone?" Jack knocks his head gently against the trunk, hoping that for once he'd knock some sense into it. "Maybe you're all conspiring against me. This must be a test to see how thick my skull really is."</p><p>If Pitch could just do him a favor and react, he would feel less awkward. Jack's ability to read people rests pretty squarely upon their reactions to his antics. That his arms are trapped above his head is <em> limiting his abilities here </em> ‒ which is kind of the point ‒ but at least he still has his staff. His reach isn't great, but the insubstantial yet still confining coils around his waist, hands, and feet aren't as tight as they really should be. Pitch is going to regret that. Jack locks his eyes on Pitch and decides to continue his prodding. "Is it the grievous bodily harm? You should've just let me fall then. Gravity doesn't like to let go, and the wind can be finicky. It's always a bit of gamble to jump, willy-nilly, out of trees."  </p><p>And, there it is, ever so subtle: Pitch's eyes narrow. "Why would you, Jack Frost, be courting misfortune?" </p><p>"What? No! I mean, not knowing what's going to happen is part of the fun! I was kidding though. The wind would never let something like that happen, right?" His eyes close as the wind rushes up to meet them, the rattling tree branches doing the work needed to cover the brittle edges of his laughter. It crests above them, fluxing into thin currents that fidget just beyond his reach. Jack can't tell if the wind is anxious for him or because of him. </p><p>The shadow spirit remains unmoved by the display, spurring Jack into finally recognizing that this may not have been his best idea. Granted, most of his ideas tend to go sideways for one reason or another ‒ generally because he tends to not give them a second thought. Mostly harmless but fun pranks on unsuspecting humans is hardly the same as investigating whether the man infamous for filling the vast oceans of space between the stars with wicked nightmares is also holding hostage a friend of some friends. </p><p>Jack tests the shadows binding his hands. They tighten in response so he falls slack rather than waste energy he might need later. One of these days his curiosity is going to get him into serious trouble.</p><p>"Why have you been trying to find me," Pitch finally asks, still scowling down at Jack. Still <em> looming </em> over him, immovable and ominous. </p><p>"That's a bit presumptuous, even for you. Why would I be looking for you?" Jack replies, answering the question with a question.</p><p>"I know you are. Buzzing around like an agitated little bumblebee. All that fear-" the bark of Jack's own sharp laugh catches him off guard but doesn't seem to deter Pitch. "Oh, you're not afraid of me, exactly, but you are afraid. I can <em> feel </em> it, and it is distracting. So, again, Jack, what do you want from me?"</p><p>"Nothing? I kind of live here. I've been known to haunt these parts," he mutters, wincing internally at his choice of words. He doesn't have an answer for Pitch because his intention hadn't been to find Pitch. In fact, Jack had very much meant to avoid engaging with him at all while sneaking around his territory. Given the confusing tangle of caverns and tunnels, Jack still doesn't consider his assumption to be <em> that </em> unreasonable. </p><p>And there are billions of humans alone on the planet, so many different fears through which to wade. Pitch hadn't bothered with Jack's until he'd so recently stumbled in and saw the Bogeyman-</p><p>Jack's thoughts skitter around what he'd seen that night. It hadn't been much, but he has a creative imagination. This couldn't be a coincidence. He can't think of any other <em> valid </em> reason for Pitch to be here, harassing him, unless he'd been out hunting for Jack. But why now? There had already been plenty of opportunities ‒ Jack had practically gone into hibernation for several days ‒ and, if he'd had a mind to so, Pitch could've literally sneaked into the other guardians' shadows and snatched Jack from right under their noses before they realized what had happened. </p><p>Jack bites his lip because he's been trying to unravel this mess by pulling on the wrong thread, too preoccupied with the hows and whys rather than dealing with the fact that he's already caught well within Pitch's grasp. And it's not like the Nightmare King has a reputation for being compassionate, benevolent, or humane. "You got me. Now what are you going to do with me?" </p><p>A hush spreads across the forest, the faint drone of nocturnal noises dwindling down to nothing as the shadows deepen around them. Even the wind is holding its breath, waiting. </p><p>Somehow Pitch straightens further, finding more height from within his already ridiculously strict posture.  "Do you expect me to be <em> uncivil </em> ? If that were the case, you would already be a blubbering, broken mess, certainly incapable of <em> sassing </em> me."</p><p>Jack snorts. He's not even trying, he's barely scraped the surface of his 'sass.' Wisecracking has always been a coping mechanism of his, one he'd learned while human. It's so ingrained that Jack becomes more of a smart-ass when threatened. But this is too subtle to be a threat. Between Sandy's dreams of the past and his own recent experiences, Jack knows the gist of how Pitch operates ‒ he explicitly understands his opponents' fears and exploits them, shaping those fears into weapons and striking when the moment is just right. </p><p>Idle threats are ineffective. Pitch makes threats when he identifies a path to victory ‒ and he fully intends to follow through with any he makes to achieve his goal. Without any leverage though, he has to resort to manipulation and nuance to get what he wants.. </p><p>"This is civil," Jack asks, his question flippantly light. He glances toward his bound hands and shrugs. "I mean, I guess in some circles it is-" With a twist of his wrist, a cold static charges the air and his staff snaps against the nearest shadows. The angle is awkward but his restraints disintegrate from the shock and his hands are loose. </p><p>Jack doesn't have the chance to even blink before the shadow spirit has gathered up his wrists in one hand and has slammed them back against the tree. </p><p>Time, unbothered by how fast Pitch can apparently move, settles calmly back into its natural flow around Jack. He hears his pulse in his ears, dazed by the suddenness and speed, and it takes several more heartbeats until he reacts with a gasp. Belatedly. After the fact. Jack is more than a little annoyed by the delayed involuntary response ‒ he's supposed to be the nimble, swift, and sprightly one here.</p><p>"Why are you <em> such </em> a brat," Pitch snaps, yanking the staff from Jack's fingers. He reaches up, stretching with a casual deftness that should not be sustainable while standing on a sloping limb at such a distance from the ground, to hang it from a branch overhead so that it's just out of the guardian's reach. </p><p>"It's not like I go out of my way or anything," Jack says, chuckling at how incensed Pitch sounds. He can see a hint of it in his eyes, but the volatile weight hanging in the air is the real giveaway. This feels normal, more like where he's supposed to be ‒ a guardian fighting against an arch nemesis. Maybe not pinned like a butterfly to a tree with Pitch's presence biting into what remains of his personal space, but he can work with it. "You realize this isn't any better, right? I mean, I may be a bit of a loner, but you can't honestly think this is more conside-"</p><p>The clouds suddenly disperse, casting dimly lit beams across the world. Fear spikes though him, jagged like lightning. His thoughts splinter into fragments as his eyes flit to the moon and back, startled by its sudden arrival. Logic dictates from some undisclosed location in his mind that the moon's presence is predictable, that he'd already dismissed this particular doubt less than an hour ago, that he has more pressing concerns at the moment anyway.</p><p>"Oh, now what is this?" Pitch breathes out, his words dripping with grim satisfaction. </p><p>Such a thin crescent could never provide enough to adequately see by, but its anemic light still manages to limn the Nightmare King's face as it fractures into a smile, hemorrhaging malice as it spreads, a wretched disease, to his cheeks and further.</p><p>Jack tries to close his eyes, to tear his gaze away from the gruesome horror and finds that he can't. He's conscious of how his limbs are arranged, the occasional jerk of an ankle or wrist, his slow, steady breathing. It's as though he's fallen asleep with his eyes open but his mind is hypervigilant, acutely aware that he should be fending off an attack, if not escaping from his untimely death.</p><p>It's like he's stuck in the opposite of a nightmare. </p><p>Later, assuming there is a later, he will be amused by the irony, how his first instinct is to freeze and hope the fear-stalking eldritch monster will get bored and just go away. Pitch leans in closer, that hideous expression expanding beyond the physical boundaries of reality, stretching dimensions until geometry begins to crack at the seams-</p><p>The adrenaline kicks in, and with that surge the trance should finally break. Jack reaches his senses out, waits for that near instant reconnection between mind and muscle, ready to make his escape ‒ and nothing happens.</p><p>"<em>You're afraid of the Man in the Moon</em>," Pitch hums, his voice augmented with the sounds of twisting metal, shattering glass, and every discordant noise in between. The atmosphere shies away in protest from the chaos, malformed frequencies contorting the air into waves that propagate only the Nightmare King's evil intent. "<em>He doesn't speak to you. Is he still there? Is he still alive, or did the loneliness and solitude finally get to him? </em>"</p><p>The words crawl over Jack's skin, scalding, provocative, seeping into him like venom. Fright bleeds further, too deep and down into his marrow, invoking a crude echo that resonates from his bones until they ache. He wrenches his wrists but his fingers barely twitch. Then, Jack can't move at all, his heart skidding behind his ribs, his breath stalling as the eyes peering at him begin to bore into him. Pitch's pupils rupture into shards, fractals of shadow that tear at Jack. They collapse and Jack plummets inward, dragged into a recursive singularity as hostile golden irises dilate, combining into a single tarnished halo that reaches out to infinity. The night sky is banished to somewhere well beyond that horizon, and the moon along with it.  </p><p>"<em>But I know he's still up there, Jack, doing what he does best: whatever he wants. He isn't looking down from on high, Jack, watching over and protecting the world. He's had every opportunity to stop me, to help you and the others, but he doesn't. He doesn't care about me, and if he doesn't care about me, he certainly doesn't care about you.</em>"</p><p>Jack blinks once, then several times in rapid succession as his mind tries to salvage reality, clashing with itself about where he is and what just happened. He tenses up, his eyes darting around for a sane frame of reference. Pitch is normal. The sky is normal. His command over his own body is normal ‒ except that he's still very much restrained by the Bogeyman who'd just tried to- tried to what exactly? He shudders, then Jack quickly glares up at him. </p><p>Pitch's expression is aloof, at least until he raises a mocking brow, speaking with a tone that mirrors the sentiment, "Worried you might get caught doing something objectionable?"</p><p>Fury, hot and suffocating, swarms through Jack. The wind surges up around them, a riot of turbulence as Jack struggles to get free from Pitch's grip, not caring that the ice within him shrinks away from his anger. Pitch, unsettled by the intensity of Jack's reaction, shifts his weight away while his fingers contract, screwing tight until bones and ligaments pang a warning.</p><p>Jack eventually has to yield, and he sags against the tree, exhausted. His chest heaves from the exertion, and Jack winces as each breath he draws strains his joints further and brings the sharp twinges closer to genuine pain. He gives his wrist an experimental twist, but Pitch doesn't budge. That's going to leave a mark. </p><p>He can't remember the last time he's been this winded, much less so angry. Though his anger has receded enough for him to think straight, it has settled in his throat as a tight, molten knot, making his voice crack when he says, "You're not worried about your daughter catching you defiling sprites in her forests?"</p><p>"She doesn't care either," Pitch viciously snarls, "Why would she <em> ever </em> bother with the likes of you or me?"</p><p>Jack jerks, those words cutting quick and deep into the heart of him. All that has happened within the past few days finally crashes down with the force and speed of an avalanche around the guardian. Jack feels hollow, like he's unwittingly been carving out pieces of himself to make room for obligations he hadn't had the chance to adjust to before having just all the rest of this thrust upon him. </p><p>Then his powers sweep back through him, slipping easily into that space and insulating him from the shock of diving into more than he could handle. It's a biting and chilly comfort, but it's familiar and he welcomes it. Jack apologizes for his stifling temper. The cold curls around his anger like an old friend, freezing it so abruptly that a resounding crack ricochets inside his skull. The impact of it settles like a glacier, immense and solid and ‒ for the time being ‒ mind-numbingly locked up. </p><p>And silent.</p><p>The wind coaxes his attention back, whispering as it flows around him in soothing rivulets. Jack is standing on his own, free from the shadows and Pitch's callous hands. Pitch is standing several steps away ‒ a wise decision given that Jack has his staff back in hand. A vast and complicated array of frost slithers into spiraling anarchy around them and on them.</p><p>Jack looks up to where the Nightmare King is warily watching him. He's still angry, and he can feel it press against his insides, monumental and vigilant. Then, he's hauling Pitch down to his level with the hooked end of his staff. Pitch reels at the sudden and precarious shift of his stance, but Jack is kind of enough to catch him by the shoulder and steady him. He slides his hand to Pitch's face to cup his cheek. Jack tilts his head as he gazes up at him. </p><p>"Maybe I did come looking for you. Maybe I want out of this never-ending story and you're the only one willing and capable of making that happen. Just like with Nightlight." The words are out of his mouth before he can snatch them back.  </p><p>He lightly taps Pitch on the nose, releasing him as he rears back, appalled by Jack's suggestion. He turns pale as he backs away, wide eyes darting back and forth and lips working around excuses that remain unsaid. </p><p>"Wait," Jack says, his fingers following after Pitch to pull him back. He curses his impulse to just give support to those in need, to reconcile differences or soothe negative emotions for the sake of peace ‒ usually at his expense and regardless of whether it's deserved. It's yet another part of who he is, and the other man's behavior is just so disturbingly <em> contrary </em> to anything Jack had expected. </p><p>Pitch's frantic gaze collides with Jack's and then he disappears. </p><p>Jack glances around, checking each obvious shroud of darkness for signs of villainy, just in case. The minutes turn stale and Jack huffs, then he asks the surrounding night, "What in the world just happened?"</p><p>The breeze ruffles his hair in reply and whisks away his troubled sigh. He pivots around, the wind prodding him upright as he spins carelessly. A fond smile tugs at his lips at the act, but Jack leans heavily against his staff as his thoughts fret around in circles. Where should he even begin? </p><p>Jack isn't sure when the realization hit him. He should have made that connection sooner, though, based on what Emily Jane and Katherine had said about Nightlight. Then, Pitch's insinuations about the moon.</p><p>His gaze drifts along tangents, like his thoughts, unfocused until it lands on where he'd been lashed to the tree ‒ to where he'd also split the tree. Icicles hang from the boughs above him, and sheets of ice encase that part of the trunk, covering the furrow he'd made. It doesn't look fatal but it is going to scar. </p><p>Poor tree didn't do anything to warrant such abuse. He hadn't meant any of it, not really, but his reaction to what Pitch had said was a bit more intense than it should've been. Jack sighs again as he flops down into the crook of the tree and dangles his legs to either side of the branch. The air around him condenses, like it's trying to console him.</p><p>"Thanks," he says as he pulls out the snow globe and gives it a shake, "but I think I'm going to need a little more help unpacking this particular baggage."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>